


curiosidad

by boom_slap



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Some Plot, Switching, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap
Summary: La primera y la más simple emoción que descubrimos en la mente humana es la curiosidad.Andrés' journey through self-discovery.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote/Original Female Character, Palermo | Martín Berrote/Original Male Character
Comments: 23
Kudos: 157





	curiosidad

**Author's Note:**

> GOD BLESS RAINBOWCAT for assuring me over and over again that I should publish this.  
> It's a ride, but... Read the tags and enjoy, I guess?

“Are you a top or a bottom?” Andrés asks innocently and he watches with wild satisfaction as Martín spits out his cereal.

“ _What?_ ” he gapes and Andrés leans against the counter, tilting his head.

“Well?”

“What makes you wonder?” Martín is looking rather suspicious, but there is a faint blush to his cheeks and not for the first time, Andrés thinks that Martín may be attracted to him. Not that it would be weird, Andrés _is_ a very handsome man, after all.

“Curiosity. We’ve known each other for a year now, but I can’t tell,” he says, smirking.

“Seriously?” Martín rolls his eyes at him, getting up and grabbing a textbook from the table to shove it into his backpack. “What does it matter?”

“It doesn't,” Andrés shrugs. “As I’ve said, I’m just curious.”

“Take a guess, then,” Martín stands in front of him, raising an eyebrow, the backpack thrown over his shoulder. Andrés eyes him attentively, taking in the casual clothes, the tousled hair, the pretty eyes. To be quite honest, he would never be able to tell if Martín was even gay if he didn’t know him. However, he _does_ , so he narrows his eyes slightly at Martín’s hand, resting on his hip.

“A bottom,” he states and looks back up at Martín’s face, grinning. “Tell me I’m right.”

Martín huffs and makes a vague gesture with his hand.

“Fine,” he says. “You are.”

“Why do you prefer to be at the-... receiving end?”

He snorts and shakes his head, incredulous.

“Look, I have Mathematical Analysis in twenty minutes and I actually enjoy the class, so I need to get there. We’ll talk in the evening,” he moves to the door, but stops in front of it, keys in hand. He raises an eyebrow at Andrés. “Do you want to stay here?”

Andrés shrugs and flashes him a smile.

“Yeah, I have nowhere to be today. Can I use your laptop?”

“Sure,” there is no hesitation as Martín throws him the keys, which Andrés catches with practiced ease.

Martín still seems a little bit suspicious as he leaves the apartment.

If Andrés spends most of the morning looking through the gay porn in Martín’s search history, that’s nobody’s business.

If at some point he has to relieve himself, well, that’s what porn is _for_ , isn’t it?

In the evening, they go out and he drops the subject. For now.  
  
  


“So, what's it like?”

“What’s what like?” Martín’s voice is deliciously slurred. They’re drunk on red wine, the kind that leaves you warm all over, and heavy. The kind that makes you both horny and sleepy; a tragic conflict, really.

“You know, getting fucked. The way you do,” Andrés honestly means no offense and Martín takes none. He’s getting used to the way Andrés switches from speaking in poetry to disarming bluntness, so he only hums slightly, thinking, as he stares up at the ceiling from where they’re both sprawled out on the soft rug.

“Well, for one, I like being-... submissive. I like being _owned_ , you know?” Martín says and Andrés thinks that maybe the question was not his brightest idea. “So, there’s that. But dominance doesn’t have to have anything to do with, you know, topping or bottoming.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Of course not. And I’ve been on top before, too, it’s just about, well, preferences. And I like the feeling of having a dick up my ass, simple as that.”

Andrés frowns slightly. That part doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Why?”

“It feels-... full. And like, super intimate. And hot. And when you get your prostate stimulated, it’s like-... I know it doesn’t sound, you know, sexy, but it feels fucking amazing,” Martín laughs and suddenly, Andrés realizes just how close they are. He wants to reach out and _feel_. He blames it on the wine. “It makes your mind go blank. That’s what I love about it. And you can just-… lie back and enjoy it. Just _take_ it.”

Andrés takes a moment to think about it. He’s had a girl or two who enjoyed the occasional anal sex and for him, it did feel good. Different, but good. Arousing, because it was for pure pleasure, with no will to conceive behind it.

“Doesn’t it make you feel like a woman?” he knows the question is probably dumb and stereotypical, but it’s Martín; he’s going to answer honestly. Martín laughs.

“ _No!_ Listen, gay sex is like, the manliest thing ever. There’s literally no pussy involved, just two guys. Or more. Anyway, it’s the essence of masculinity.”

Andrés hums, low in his throat. The man has a point, he figures.

“Have you ever done anything with a woman, though?”

“Yeah,” Martín says and Andrés raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I’ve had female friends in high school. I’ve had the heterosexual sex, once, I’ve made out with girls, too, I mean, I’m trashy, no? But I just-... they’re too _soft_. I need _hard_ and _rough_ , instead.”

“So there is a difference,” Andrés states more than asks and he rolls onto his stomach, pulling himself up a little on his elbows. They’re close now, his forearm pressed against Martín’s arm. He can feel the body heat radiating from under the dress shirt. It’s comforting; Martín’s whole presence is. The moment he’s finished his studies - on top of the class, _obviously_ \- Andrés has dragged him to his lovely Europe as a partner in crime. It’s glorious. They work together perfectly and Andrés may have his beautiful little women, but Martín is the only thing that really feels like home.

Andrés wants to touch and since he wants, he does; that’s just how he is. He traces his fingertips along Martín’s strong jawline. It’s… different, but as he presses his hand against it, Martín’s head turns obediently in his direction. Andrés inhales heavily through his nose.

“Show me,” he says and Martín’s eyes widen slightly at first, but then he grins. His hand wanders up and into Andrés’ hair and then, he’s pulling him down for a kiss.

Now, in Andrés’ experience, most first kisses are a thing of romantic comedies; gentle, tentative even, soft and full of wonder at discovering the lover’s lips for the first time.

Martín, however, kisses him hard and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth when he’s done sucking on it.

“Come on, try me,” he mutters and that’s all it takes for Andrés to dive in and kiss him back, or rather: shove his tongue into his mouth, swallowing the loud, needy groan that Martín lets out. The kiss is messy, sloppy, and Andrés starts biting Martín’s lips, delighted by the little whines he gets in return. He hisses when Martín’s fingernails scrape down his neck.

When he pulls away, he sees a string of saliva between their lips before it breaks. _That’s hot_ , his drunken mind supplies helpfully.

“You were right,” he rasps out. “That definitely wasn’t soft.”

Martín laughs.

Andres gets married, then he gets divorced and he keeps thinking about kissing men. He spends hours looking through art history books, wondering if his appreciation for male bodies goes beyond aesthetics; they never demanded his attention in the way female bodies did, but if he _did_ pay attention, he found himself wondering how they would feel beneath his hands.

He could probably stand not knowing, or content himself with one encounter just to sate his curiosity. The problem, he realizes, is Martín, because Martín cannot be ignored. Not with the way he looks at Andrés. Not when he fits so wonderfully into his life. Not when he understands him so well.

He meets every challenge Andrés throws his way.

“What are you reading?” Martín asks, walking into the library of the huge house Andrés has bought near Berlín.

“I’m studying art,” Andrés says, tearing his gaze away from the soft features of Donatello’s _David_ to look at Martín, who hums in lieu of answering and stands on his tiptoes to put a book on interdisciplinary engineering back on one of the shelves.

Andrés looks at him and decides to try and speak in poetry to him, curious if it’ll throw him off.

“If I asked,” he says, his tone intent, “what would you give me?”

Martín smirks, running his fingers over the book spines.

“This and that,” he says, turning towards Andrés, his gaze soft. “And everything else.”

 _Poetry_ , Andrés thinks, _that’s a poem right there_.

“Come here,” he says, having decided on what he wants. Martín walks over and Andrés reaches out to grab his wrist and pull him closer until he has to sit on the arm of the chair he’s sitting in. Andrés lets go of his wrist to run his hands up and down Martín’s arms instead, watching him closely. Martín tilts his head to the side, waits patiently. Andrés likes touching him - his arms, his shoulders, his back. It’s casual and Martín never initiates it, but he always leans into it, as if Andrés’ space is the most natural place for him to be in.

Andrés moves his hands to Martín’s back and allows them to rest there for a moment before sliding them downwards, the wool of Martín’s sweater rubbing nicely against his fingers. His hands trail further and back to the front, onto the thighs dressed in tight, black jeans that Andrés likes very much. He stops there and squeezes the soft flesh under his hands.

Martín is staring; he’s calm, but his eyes are bright and piercing and his breath is a little bit heavier now.

“What do you want of me?” he asks in a hoarse voice and Andrés catches the hem of his sweater and rubs the fabric in between his thumb and pointing finger.

“Take it off,” he says.

Martín complies without any questions nor hesitation. The sweater is dropped to the floor and Andrés tilts his head, taking in the sight of Martín’s smooth chest. He touches again, places his hand on the soft belly. He strokes the warm skin with his thumb and smiles when he sees - and feels - goosebumps. He keeps his other hand on Martín’s thigh and moves the one on his stomach upwards, to his chest, to one of his dark nipples which he strokes with the tip of his finger.

Martín exhales shakily through his nose, his whole body shuddering. It makes Andrés look up at him.

“It’s cold,” Martín says, pursing his lips. There’s a blush to his cheeks that Andrés quite likes.

“I’ll warm you right up,” he murmurs and pulls Martín into his lap, making him straddle his hips. “Show me what it feels like to be touched by a man.”

Martín closes his eyes and sighs as a smile spreads across his face.

“It’s not that much different from jerking off, you know,” he murmurs and leans down to press a kiss to Andrés’ neck, hot and wet, as he swiftly unbuckles his belt. “It’s like that, but better.”

Andres almost purrs, leaning back and enjoying the lips and tongue against his skin. The sound of the zipper is almost as loud as their breathing. Martín slips a hand into his pants and fondles him through the briefs. Andrés closes his eyes and his fingers dig into Martín’s leg.

“Yes,” he says and he feels Martín’s teeth against his neck as the other man grins.

Martín pulls out his cock from the briefs, then, his touch steady before he takes his hand away. Andrés opens his eyes and sees Martín’s open palm before him.

“If it were your hand, what would you do?” Martín asks in a low voice and Andrés can feel how hard he is against his leg. It must be uncomfortable, considering the tightness of his jeans. It’s arousing to see Martín ignore it completely.

Andrés takes a hold of the hand in front of him and spits into it, then decides to lick an additional stripe from the wrist to the thumb.

“Go on,” he says, letting go and leaning back again as Martín stares at him, now blushing furiously. He smiles and then, lets his eyes close one more as Martín starts stroking his dick, the fist clenched tightly.

It really feels like jerking off, but better - the angle is different, it’s _new,_ and he doesn’t have to do _anything_ really, he can just sit back and enjoy as somebody else - _Martín_ \- pleasures him so eagerly.

He lets out a loud moan when Martín massages the tip of his cock with his thumb. Even with his eyes closed, he can’t think of anything but Martín - how could he, since Martín is the only person he knows whose fingers are calloused like that from the strings of a guitar?

Just when the delicious friction is almost enough to send him over the edge, just when his thighs start quivering, Martín stops his movement. Andrés’ eyes fly open and he’s met with a fiery gaze.

“I want it in my mouth. Can I have it in my mouth, please?” Martín asks and the _please_ makes Andrés grunt and grab a fistful of Martín’s hair.

“Don’t bite,” he warns as Martín sinks onto his knees in-between Andrés’ open legs. Relaxing back into the chair once again, Andrés keeps one hand on the top of Martín’s head, bringing the other one to his lips to bite at his finger when he feels Martín’s mouth around him.

The way Martín blows him is almost reverent and he’s not afraid to get messy and let out wet, lewd sounds. When he takes the cock deep into his throat and chokes a little, it’s too much; Andrés thrusts his hips up, his fist clenching in Martín’s hair as he comes and he can’t help but whimper at the way the other man swallows around his dick, drinking every last drop.

Coming down from the high of his orgasm, he laughs, breathless and delighted. He feels pleasantly drained and he looks down at Martín who’s obscenely lapping at his softening cock.

“Martín,” he says, almost tenderly, “come up here.”

Martín crawls back into his lap and wraps his arms around Andrés’ neck, panting when Andrés slips a hand into his already undone pants. He twitches and whines as Andrés strokes him slowly, lazily, because he’s too spent to really try. It seems to be enough, though, because it takes maybe two hot, amazing minutes before Martín arches his back and comes with a choked groan.

Andrés pulls his hand out and lets Martín lick it clean.  
  


A few weeks later, Andrés doesn’t think twice before stepping into the bathroom as Martín is taking a shower.

“Do you feel like going out today?” he asks, standing by the mirror and pulling out the shaving cream and razors.

“Where to?” Martín calls over the sound of the water running. Andrés wipes the steamed mirror - Martín prefers his water scorching hot - to be able to see his reflection. Behind him, he can see the wall of the shower stall and Martín’s silhouette behind the glass. It’s blurred, foggy, but Andrés smirks, because what he can see is very nice, soft and elegant.

“We haven’t been to a gay club in forever,” he states before putting the cream over his face. When he starts shaving, Martín steps out of the shower. He doesn’t even reach for a towel; he steps closer and leans against the marble counter, watching Andrés with a smirk.

“What,” he says, “did I manage to make you gay?”

Andres snorts.

“ _Make me gay_ , what are you even talking about? Of course not. But,” he glances at Martín’s gloriously naked body, wet and flushed, “you’ve shown me interesting options that I’m willing to explore.”

“Are you willing the explore them now?” Martín asks, smiling wider.

“How come you’re always so horny?”

“It’s a struggle,” he sighs but he does finally wrap a towel around his wrist. “If you want to go, sure. Are you going to be picking up guys?”

“I don’t think so,” Andrés mutters, pulling a face as he slowly drags the razor over his cheek. “I might help you, though.”

“Ohhh,” Martín grins. “A wingman? How lovely.”  
  
  


The club is crowded and loud, and Andrés is glad for his own heavy cologne that overshadows all of the other smells around him - sweat and those disgusting, cheap perfumes. He swirls the whisky around in a glass, watching as Martín is dancing with some tall, quite handsome man. Andrés gazes at the man’s nice, regular features, but his eyes soon drop to Martín’s ass, which shouldn’t be surprising considering that Martín has a very good butt. Andrés watches until finally he catches Martín’s gaze and with a slight nod, he motions for him to come over.

Martín is grinning as he walks to the bar, his hair a little sweaty and ruffled, which means he’d probably already made out with someone when Andrés wasn’t looking.

“You like that guy?” Andrés asks, leaning in.

“He’s alright.”

“Do you want to sleep with him?”

Martín flushes slightly.

“Sure. Why?”

Andrés smiles, leaning back to take a sip of his drink.

“I want to watch.”

Martín steps closer, his eyes wide as he tilts his head up a little bit to look at Andrés.

“You what?” he asks quietly and Andrés hooks a finger into the belt loop of Martín’s pants to pull him in.

“I want to watch,” he repeats in a low voice. “You’ve shown me a lot already and you’ve been singing praise about the act itself, but before I decide if I want to _try_ it, I want to _see_ it.”

Martín takes a deep breath and glances at the guy he was dancing with.

“Can I-... tell him you’re my boyfriend who’s into, like, voyeurism? It’s going to be easier to explain like that,” he says, biting his lips. Andrés smiles, putting his hand flat against Martín’s hip.

“I don’t see any problem with that,” he says, benevolent, and pushes Martín lightly towards the other man.  
  


The choice turns out to be excellent. They take the man - a German-Italian by the name of Elias - back home and straight into Martín’s bedroom. Andrés pours himself a tall glass of red wine and sits back in an armchair in the corner as Martín pulls Elias into the bed, kissing him with abandon, making breathless little noises as they both strip from their clothes. Andrés watches with half-lidded eyes as Martín finally discards his briefs and climbs into Elias’ lap, handing him a bottle of lube he’d pulled out from a drawer. He wraps his arms around the other man’s neck and stares at Andrés, chewing on his bottom lip as Elias slicks up his fingers and reaches behind Martín. Andrés doesn’t see the fingers pushing into Martín’s ass, but he immediately recognizes the moment it happens - Martín’s whole body arches and his lips part in a silent groan. He starts moving his hips in sync with Elias’ arm, his eyes not leaving Andrés’.

It’s the sound that does it, really - the heavy breathing and the wet squelch, obscene and obvious. Andrés is hard as a rock, so he opens his pants and pulls out his cock, stroking lazily to get some relief, but without chasing completion.

Martín grins at the sight, disheveled and wild, and he leans down to kiss and bite at Elias’ neck.

“ _Duro e veloce, per favore,_ ” he mutters when Elias pushes him onto his back and he spreads his legs, panting, waiting for the man to roll on a condom and slick himself up.

When he pushes into him, Martín throws his head back and lets out a loud moan. Andrés squeezes at the base of his cock, gritting his teeth, because this is so much better than any porn. He feels his breath get heavier as Elias starts all but pounding into Martín, snapping his hips forward and pressing him down into the mattress. Over his shoulder, Martín is still looking at Andrés, eyes foggy and tearful as if he was feverish. He’s very vocal, his groans and whines filling the room and making Andrés want to get up, throw Elias out and take his place.

He imagines himself doing just that, pushing Martín’s legs further apart, grabbing him hard enough to leave bruises, biting down at the soft skin of his neck, making him _cry_ in pleasure.

Elias groans and speeds up, reaching down to take Martín’s dick into his hand. Andrés watches closely as Martín gasps and moans, eyes opening wide, legs shaking, and he thinks: _he must be close._ He feels _proud_ when it turns out he was right, when Martín claws at Elias’ back and chokes on a whimper, eyes squeezing shut.

Martín goes limp, then, but he keeps making little noises, because Elias doesn’t stop; he keeps on _using_ him until he, too, falters, his last thrusts desperate and uncoordinated. He flops onto his back, then, panting, his eyes closed.

Martín turns his head to the side and stares at Andrés again. He looks debauched, exhausted, _beautiful_.

Slowly, Andrés loosens the grip on his own cock, hissing quietly. He tilts his chin up.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation?” he asks and he’s surprised at how raspy his voice is. Martín actually grins at that, sliding off of the bed. He takes a few shaky steps before sinking to his knees in front of Andrés. He leans down and wraps his mouth around Andrés’ dick, giving it a few licks before pulling back a little.

“Hold on,” he whispers. “Let me-”

With that, he dives back in and takes the whole length into his mouth, into his _throat._ Andrés groans, fingers digging into the arms of the chair as his hips thrust up on their own accord. He feels Martín’s nose pressing into his pubic hair and the orgasm catches him by surprise. Martín swallows his come and waits until Andrés relaxes before letting the dick out of his mouth.

He lets his cheek rest against Andrés’ thigh and Andrés sighs, putting a hand at the top of his head.

“You’re so lascivious, Martín, such a lewd little thing,” he murmurs, slurring the words a bit. “Now, get our guest a glass of wine before he has to leave.”

Martín does.

The three of them get dressed, more or less, and before Elias leaves, they drink some more wine and talk for awhile. Elias doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he had been a pawn in their weird game and Andrés finds that very charming.  
  


They move to Italy and part ways for a while - Andrés rents an apartment in Rome, intent on robbing an art gallery there in a few weeks, while Martín travels to his beloved Sicily.

“For a few days,” he explains when Andrés whines about needing him for the heist. “I want to sell the jewels to the mafia and get myself a place in Palermo.”

So he leaves, and Andrés finds Rome boring without him. Luckily, he meets Gisela - a pretty, young woman, very playful. She’s very into him and she drags him to bed right after the first dinner they share, which is a nice change from all of the women that need to be courted.

Andrés keeps her around to have some company in Martín’s absence. The day Martín comes back and strides into the apartment, Gisela is there.

“Ah, Martín, finally!” Andrés grins and pulls him into a short hug before putting his hand on the man’s cheek. “I have many things to show you, but first - meet Gisela, she’s been keeping me company.”

“ _Buongiorno, bella_ ,” Martín says and Andrés is proud of his manners, a thing that took a long time to put into his head.

Andrés turns his head to look at Gisela and sees her waving a hand, a glimmer in her eyes as she looks at Martín. Andrés nearly bursts out in laughter, because he knows that look; the poor girl must be thinking that Martín is hot.

He steps away and goes to the minibar to prepare some drinks. From there, while making martinis, he watches as Martín takes a seat next to Gisela and starts talking to her; as she tilts her head and smiles at him.

An idea hits him and his lips stretch into a wide smile.

The next day, he makes his proposition to the girl over dinner and he’s delighted when she eagerly accepts.

“Martín, come here, I have a surprise for you,” he calls as they step into the apartment. Martín emerges from one of the rooms and takes a look at them.

“Hey,” he says and Andrés slightly nudges Gisela forward. She walks over to Martín and presses herself right against him.

“ _Buona serata,_ ” she murmurs and leans in to kiss his neck. Martín’s eyes widen; he stands still and stares at Andrés, who grins.

“ _The two of you look beautiful together,_ ” he says, switching to Italian, prompting Martín to do the same.

“ _What are you doing?”_ he asks, putting one hand on Gisela’s arm as she laughs and nuzzles his jaw. He looks unimpressed and Andrés’ grin gets wider.

“ _We feel like having sex, but I don’t want to exclude you. Gisela here doesn’t mind, do you now, dear?_ ”

“ _Not at all_ ,” she hums, taking Martín’s hand. Andrés steps closer, takes the other one; they both pull him into the bedroom. Martín is staring at them and shaking his head, disbelieving, so Andrés grabs his waist and pulls him close.

“You can leave if you want. Or,” he smiles and leans in, his lips brushing against Martín’s, “you can stay.”

Martín sighs deeply; he wraps his arms around Andrés’ neck and kisses him, licking into his mouth. Andrés lets him do that for a moment before pulling him away by the hair, making him groan and tilt his head back.

Andrés lets go and steps back, smiling at both of his lovers.

“ _Since I’m older than you, I’m not going to do any work. There’s two of you, I’m sure you can find a way to share the efforts_ ,” he says and hops onto the bed, where he stretches out comfortably. Martín and Gisela both stare at him. “ _Well? Undress_.”

Andrés puts a hand behind his head and watches as Gisela turns her back to Martín, looking at him over her shoulder.

“ _Help me with the zipper_?” she asks innocently and Andrés laughs as Martín sends him a dirty look before helping Gisela out of her dress. She’s a little plump, with wide hips and round breasts, and Andrés hums approvingly, eyeing her lace underwear.

“ _Relax,”_ she says to Martín, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off of his shoulders.

“ _Kiss,”_ Andrés tells them and smirks as they comply, as Martín closes his eyes and opens his mouth, his hands hesitant as he places them on the girl’s face.

“ _Come here_ ,” he says then, feeling like a king, like an emperor as both of them climb onto the bed on all fours and lie next to him, one on each side. He sighs, one of his hands burying itself in Gisela’s brown locks as he places the other on the small of Martín’s back. He kisses Gisela first, enjoying her soft lips, keeping his eyes open wide enough to see Martín unbuttoning his shirt. Andrés smiles into the kisses as Martín leans down and mouths at the newly uncovered skin.

Then, Martín pulls away and nudges Gisela slightly; she seems to understand and they switch, Martín’s lips more demanding than hers as they meet Andrés’.

It goes on like this for awhile, with Martín and Gisela worshipping Andrés with kisses and touches. He’s almost purring with how good it is, but he finds himself pulling Martín a little bit closer, his warmth more comforting. It doesn’t means that he doesn’t appreciate Gisela, though; when Martín pulls down his pants and underwear and moves down on the bed to suck his cock into hardness, he buries his face in the woman’s breasts, breathing in her sweet scent, biting at the soft skin and smiling when she arches her back. He helps her out of her underwear, groaning and moving his hips impatiently as Martín takes his dick deep into his throat. Andrés pulls Gisela closer, slips a hand between her legs and fingers her, listening to her breathless sighs.

After a moment, he pulls Martín off of his cock and into a kiss, smirking at his surprised gasp. He hands him a condom that he rolls onto Andrés’ member with practised ease.

“ _Bella_ ,” Andrés groans at Gisela and she smiles, straddling his hips and sinking down onto his dick. He closes his eyes and moans into Martín’s mouth, reaching to unbutton his jeans and tug them down along with the underwear as Gisela rides him, throwing her head back and running her hands down his chest. He takes Martín into his hand, stroking up and down and letting the other man bite at his lips.

Gisela speeds up, so he does too, making Martín moan beautifully.

“Take it all off,” he tells him, voice deep and raspy, and he takes his hand away. “I want to see you.”

Martín pulls back and looks down at him with wide eyes as he strips from his pants and briefs completely, throwing them over his shoulder. Andrés presses a hand to his hip, then moves it back to squeeze at his ass and pull him closer.

He hesitates for a moment, but Gisela notices what he’s about to do and her legs tighten against his hips. She whimpers; the idea excites her, clearly.

It makes sense, Andrés thinks, urging Martín to move so that he’s lying with his groin right next to Andrés’ head. Most heterosexual men like to watch female homosexual acts. It’s only normal that women would enjoy seeing two men together.

He closes his eyes, focuses on the wet heat around his own cock as he takes Martín’s in his hand again and guides it into his mouth.

“Fuck, _Andrés!_ "

The dick doesn’t necessarily taste good, but its weight on his tongue is pleasant enough, and Martín’s choked moans are delicious. He doesn’t have the skill Martín has, but he teases with his tongue, a little sloppily since he’s close to release now, his hips thrusting up to meet Gisela’s movements. She’s looking down at him, eyes bright, her hand rubbing circles over her clit, her lips parted in a silent cry. A moment later, she arches her back and whines, her whole body shaking, her muscles tightening, making Andrés come as well. He groans, his lips moving against Martín’s cock; he squeezes at its base, strokes once, twice; he almost laughs when he feels it spurting onto his face. Maybe he should feel shame, but he doesn’t, not when Martín sighs and moves to lie on his stomach, not when he kisses him and his tongue darts out to lick _his own come_ off of Andrés’ chin and lips.

Gisela is lying on his chest, panting and laughing, shaking her head.

“ _Fantastico,”_ she purrs and Andrés scratches at the back of her head. Martín snuggles closer to his side, reaching down to pull off the used condom - at which Andrés hisses quietly - and let it drop onto the floor.

“Martín,” he murmurs, still breathing heavily. “That’s disgusting.”

“So what?” Martín retorts. He kisses him again and Andrés finds that he doesn’t really care.  
  


Over those few weeks that they stay in Rome, Andrés invites Gisela over a few times more. Still, each time, he finds his attention shifting more and more towards Martín. Martín, who makes out with the girl just to pleasure Andrés. Martín, who kisses him through his orgasms. Martín, who nudges Gisela out of the way in occasional bursts of jealousy and replaces her delicate hands with his own, bigger and rougher.

Preparing the heist takes a little bit longer than intended, delayed by sloppy makeout sessions, rushed handjobs and messy blowjobs given and received on the couch, against the wall, in the shower or, in one particular case, in the elevator.

Andrés also discovers that his new favourite thing is Martín’s butt, or rather: slipping his hand into the back pocket of his jeans and keeping it there, possessive and ostentatious, not necessarily when they’re doing anything sexual, no - it happens almost _casually,_ whenever Martín is standing in Andrés’ general vicinity.

The heist is still a success and they take turns behind the wheel during their ten hour escape to Palermo. They manage to only stop once to get their hands all over each other, still high from adrenaline. It makes the remaining journey much safer.

Martín’s flat is a very cozy thing, a mixture of the taste for luxury that he had acquired from Andrés and his own love for comfort. When they walk in, they’re both exhausted, but Andrés makes a detour to the kitchen to get a glass of water before finding the bedroom, where Martín is already passed out on the bed, still fully clothed.

Andrés doesn’t think twice before toeing off his shoes and flopping onto the mattress, throwing an arm over Martín and pressing his nose into his hair, which still smells faintly of smoke from when he’s spectacularly blown up a car to cause a distraction.

Just before falling asleep, Andrés realizes, lazily and without fireworks, that Martín is everything to him - a friend, a lover, a companion, a partner.  
  


“What’s the plan for today?” Martín asks the next day as they sit in the small café near his flat, sipping on much needed coffee. He’s still sleepy and he almost chokes because a of a yawn that surprises him while he’s chewing on a croissant.

Andrés laughs at him and then stifles a yawn on his own, glancing to the side.

“Well,” he says, keeping his voice just above a whisper, “I do believe we’ve earned some rest. We should go get groceries, take a nap, maybe, I can cook dinner and then, I’m going to fuck you.”

He looks back at Martín, who’s staring at him with wide eyes. He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“You mean-... “ Martín clears his throat, frowning. Andrés kicks lightly at the side of his shoe under the table.

“Yes. You’ll show me everything. How does that sound, hm?”

Slowly, Martín grins.

“Fun.”  
  


Andrés makes sure that they drink enough wine at dinner to be pleasantly tipsy, but not nearly as drunk as they sometimes get. The liquid courage apparently works on Martín, because once his second glass is empty, he steps into Andrés’ space and kisses him - it’s passionate, but tender, too, and familiar. They don’t need to rush, so they just let their tongues slide against one another, lazy and sweet and decadent.

“Still sure?” Martín asks against his lips and smiles when Andrés nods. “Nice. I’m going to go and clean myself up, get all fresh and pretty for you.”

He pulls away and starts walking towards the bathroom.

“Martín?” Andrés calls after him, smiling, nibbling at his thumb. “Don’t overdo it with the shower gel. I still want to smell _you_."

Andrés takes off his clothes and folds them neatly on a chair before stretching out comfortably on the bed. He strokes his dick, almost mindlessly, waiting for Martín.

When he steps into the bedroom, skin wet and flushed from the hot shower, Andrés grins up at him. He laughs, then, because Martín immediately drops the towel he had wrapped around his waist and all but jumps onto the bed, pressing himself against Andrés, kissing him breathless.

He rubs his cock against Andrés’ side, impatient, and Andrés pulls at his hair until he groans.

“What,” Andrés teases, “no foreplay?”

“As if the whole day wasn’t a fucking foreplay,” Martín mutters. Andrés lets go of his hair and sits up, watching as the other man reaches for the nightstand to pull out lube and condoms with shaking hands. He opens the bottle, but Andrés grabs his wrist.

“No,” he says, snatching the lube out of his hand and placing it at the top of the nightstand. “Let me.”

He leans down and closes his lips around Martín’s pointing finger, wetting it with his saliva, circling it with his tongue. Martín whines like a dying animal and Andrés looks at him from under his lashes, moving on to another finger, letting his teeth graze from its base all the way to the tip.

“God _fucking_ dammit, Andrés,” Martín’s tone is disbelieving, weak. Andrés grins, letting more of his spit drip onto Martín’s fingers before pulling away.

“What? Show me.”

Martín seems slightly hesitant now, so Andrés pushes him down onto the pillows and kisses him; he grabs one of his legs, then, and pushes it up, shifting a little until Martín’s calf is resting against his shoulder. Martín gasps, his chest heaving as he nods frantically and finally, reaches down to push one finger inside himself.

Andrés watches, fascinated, as it retreats and pushes again, deeper this time. He looks up at Martín, who’s frowning in concentration, eyes closed, lashes fluttering against the delicate skin under his eyes. He leans in and kisses him softly, encouragingly, reaching for the lube at the same time. He pulls away again and smiles when he sees that Martín has two fingers up his ass, now. _How eager._

Andrés keeps an eye on his lover’s face as he quietly pops the bottle open and coats his own hand in slimy liquid. He decides that Martín has earned a reward, so he lies down between his legs, one of them still resting heavily on his shoulder and sliding onto his back as he moves. Martín’s breath hitches in his throat as Andrés presses an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his dick and taps his fingers against Martín’s hand to let him now it’s time to withdraw.

Martín does and brings his hand up to grab at the pillow behind his head, panting as Andrés puts his own two slick fingers inside him. He feels _exquisite_ , tight and hot, and Andrés doesn’t really feel like sucking cock, but he starts kissing Martín’s abdomen instead.

“ _Yes,”_ Martín breathes, shivering, his eyes still closed. “Just, uh-... Fuck, my brain is shutting off-... Just _deeper_ , okay, and try curling your fingers upwards-”

Andrés does and knows he’s hit the prostate when Martín arches his back with a long moan. He keeps on stroking it, kissing the soft skin under his lips, tasting the first drops of salty sweat. He pushes in a third finger, marveling at how well Martín takes it, and sucks a hickey into his hipbone before moving up to kiss and bite at his belly.

He wraps his arm firmly around Martín’s leg and nuzzles his thigh, the thin hair there tickling his nose. He starts properly fucking him with his fingers, his dick impossibly hard at the sight before him - Martín is writhing and moaning, babbling incoherently, a mixture of _yes_ and _Andrés_ and a slur of curses.

“Fuck, I could come like this, Andrés, I need-... I need-” he whines and Andrés pulls out his fingers, closes his hand around Martín’s dick instead, squeezing at the base.

“I know,” he growls, lightheaded with arousal. “Hand me the condom.”

Martín does, his hand shaking. Andrés takes the packet and rips it open with his teeth, rolls the condom onto his dick, slicks it up, gives two firm strokes before lining himself up and finally, _finally_ pushing in.

It feels amazing; more so when Martín’s eyes snap open and their gazes lock, both darkened with hunger and glimmering in pure amazement.

Andrés doesn’t start thrusting immediately, no, he _savors_ the moment, rearranging Martín’s legs so that they’re resting comfortably against Andrés’ hips so that he can lie on top of Martín and kiss him. Then, he pulls out slowly, sinks back in and groans, throwing his head back before relaxing into a grin. He mouths at Martín’s jaw and Martín puts his hands on his neck, scratching behind the ears, just as Andrés likes.

“ _Martín,_ ” he breathes, slightly overwhelmed with lust and love. He begins to move, slowly, in and out, listening to the needy little sounds Martín is making at every thrust.

“Such a good boy, so lovely, such a handsome little thing,” he purrs and Martín’s whimpers turn into something close to sobs as his hands move downwards, to Andrés’ collarbones and then to his back. “You fit me like a glove, _mi dulce tesoro, mi cielito_ …”

Martín is staring at him with wide eyes, bright and desperate. He reaches up and pulls Andrés into another kiss.

“Please,” he murmurs into his mouth, “please, harder. Andrés, _Andrés_ , I’m begging you-”

“Mmm,” Andrés hums, sucking on Martín’s bottom lip for a moment and then tracing it with his tongue before breaking the kiss. “If you ask so nicely. You’re lucky I’m so generous.”

He moves away and sits back on his heels, looking down at the picture of debauchery before him - the sweaty skin covered in bite marks, the flushed, heavy cock leaking onto Martín’s stomach and of course, the place where they’re joined. _As they should be._

He grabs Martín by the hips, hard enough to hopefully leave some pretty bruises there to admire in the morning, and pulls him closer, changes the angle a little bit and starts fucking him in earnest.

Andrés feels sweat running down his spine and hears his own groans, loud and raspy, but all that drowns in the sounds Martín is making, spreading his legs, arching his back, begging him for more, always more.

That’s what makes it so good - Martín is so _responsive_ , so wanton and shameless in his pleasure. Andrés notes that he doesn’t even reach for his own cock; but he’s a giver, so he wraps his hand around it and pumps it, trying and failing to coordinate it with his thrusts.

The task is impossible, because he can’t really control his movements anymore; he’s chasing his release, all but pounding into Martín, his cries spurring him on. When he feels Martín’s dick spurting in his hand he lets it go and grabs his shoulder instead, for better leverage, rolling his hips again and again, pushing deeper as Martín sobs with overstimulation.

If he could, he would go on for hours like that; he promises himself that he will, one day, that he’ll stretch out the pleasure and keep Martín in bed for a whole night, but now, he lets out a long moan and digs his fingernails into Martín’s skin as he comes, hips twitching with aftershocks.

He falls forward, without pulling out and without caring about the sticky mess of come on Martín’s stomach. He’s panting and laughing at the same time, nuzzling Martín’s neck.

“Wow,” he sighs, warm all over, exhausted and content. Martín rakes his fingers through his hair, his own breathing still uneven.

“We should- we should take a shower,” he murmurs and Andrés loves how unsure he sounds, how he switches between cocky and shy, driving him mad with want. He chuckles and licks a stripe up Martín’s neck, all the way to his ear.

“No,” he whispers hoarsely. “Stay like that for a moment, I love it.”

He pulls himself up a little and kisses him, all tongue and no teeth. He then looks down at him, sees a small crease of worry between his eyebrows and smirks.

“Martín,” he whispers. “Stop overthinking and rest, because once I’m able to, I’m going to fuck you again.”

Martín blinks in surprise, but then he breaks into a wide grin.  
  


They fuck like rabbits. Martín keeps giving himself over to Andrés whenever Andrés so desires. It’s wonderful.

By the time they move to the monastery to work on their _chef d’œuvre,_ Andrés has learned to play Martín like an instrument.

He had also convinced Martín to go and get tested for STDs and once it turned out that they were both clean - at which Martín sighed with relief - they started having sex without the rubber barrier between them.

It lets Andrés feel like he’s really _claiming_ Martín as his own.

“Say,” Martín says one time, basking in the afterglow and scratching lazily at Andrés’ hairy chest, “why did you stop bringing your women to bed after Rome?”

Andrés frowns, looking down at him.

“What, do you _want_ me to get one?”

“No, it’s just-... I get jealous. I would rather you brought them here.”

“Martín. Do you think I’m sleeping around behind your back?”

“It’s just-... Look, it’s not a _problem,_ " Martín mutters, his frown deepening. Andrés stares at him.

“We’re dating, you idiot.”

Martín pulls himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide.

“Since _when_?” he asks, dumbfounded.

Andrés honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh at him or pity him. He shrugs.

“Well, it just came naturally with all the amazing sex we’ve been having, don’t you think? I mean, _dating_ is not the best word, what we have is far deeper than that, but I did get you a bouquet of red roses for Saint Valentine’s, didn’t I?”

“... I thought you were just being friendly. Like, platonically.”

“ _Plato_ -... Martín, _Dios mío,_ you’re having this conversation with me with my dick still in your ass, are you being serious? I’m scandalized! I’ve called you _cariño_ about, I don’t know, ten times today?”

Martín stares.

“And speaking of Plato,” Andrés símiles at his own joke, running his fingers through Martín’s hair. “He was the one to state, according to Aristophanes, that humans used to have two faces, four legs and four arms. They were so powerful that the gods feared them, so they decided to split them in half. That’s where the concept of soulmates comes from. One soul, split into two bodies, searching desperately to connect.”

Martín leans into his touch, finally smiling. Andrés pulls him up and presses a kiss to his lips.

“The gods,” he says, “they fear us, Martín.”  
  


Even soulmates don’t always work perfectly in sync. Andrés and Martín are both very horny people, but their levels of horniness don’t necessarily match at all times. Andrés prefers having sex at night, as a way to release any tension that might’ve gathered during the day; it’s the perfect way to relax and then sleep peacefully, with nothing but satisfaction settled deep in his bones. Martín, however, often wakes up hard and needy, when Andrés would like to enjoy a slow and lazy morning. He would like to stretch out in bed, stay there for a couple of minutes and then pad to the kitchen and sip on a coffee while reading a book or a newspaper.

But no, he wakes up to a hard dick pressing into his hip and a needy whimper in his ear.

“ _Andrés_ , come on,” Martín all but moans and sure, Andrés’ own cock twitches with interest, but he himself just groans, rubbing at his eyes.

“Martín, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m _sleepy_ , I need my coffee and breakfast, then we can fuck.”

Martín whines again and Andrés looks at him properly, stifling a yawn.

“Fine, let’s be adults about this. Let’s talk business,” he says, making Martín roll his eyes, for what he earns a half-hearted slap on the arm. “First of all, how dare you. I make love to you every night and you still want more from me? You’re being greedy. My hips are sore. How about you finally give me something, hm?”

Martín glares at him, clearly about to retort, but then, his expression shifts into confusion. Then, amazement.

“You mean-” he licks his lips. “You mean your mouth or…?”

“My _mouth_? No, thank you, I won’t have dick for breakfast,” he snaps, leaning over the edge of the bed to pick up the bottle of lube that had fallen there last night. He throws it at Martín and raises his eyebrows at him. “Well?”

Martín looks down at the lube, then back at him. Andrés wants to sigh; seems like he broke the poor man, again. With a wide gesture that some may deem unnecessary, he throws away the covers to reveal his naked body and spreads his legs, shameless, leaning back against the pillows.

“Show me what it feels like,” he orders, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.

Martín makes a choked sound, but then Andrés feels the hot mouth around his cock and he smiles as Martín sucks him into hardness. He could never get enough of that, to be honest - Martín always sounds like blowing Andrés is something that gives _him_ pleasure. It’s insane.

The slick finger is cold where he’s hot and tight and he sighs, frowning, but Martín doesn’t push in immediately. Instead, he presses and rubs and massages, warming him up. It’s actually quite pleasant, and the idea of Martín touching him in the most intimate way is endlessly arousing. Still, he needs to remind Martín of his place, so he grabs his hair and pushes him down so that he takes more of his dick into that wonderful mouth of his. Martín only hums appreciatively in response, the absolute pervert.

Andrés’ breath hitches in his throat and he tenses up immediately when Martín’s finger breaches him. Martín doesn’t withdraw, though, and rubs soothing circles into Andrés’ thigh with his free hand. Slowly, he relaxes around the intrusion and Martín begins to move, bobbing his head in sync with the push and pull of his finger. It’s just short of uncomfortable, but it also makes him feel hot all over.

He groans when Martín pushes in with two fingers and he pulls him off of his dick by the hair.

“Martín,” he growls, his breath uneven. “This is a marathon, not a short distance. Slow down.”

Martín looks up at him, eyes unfocused, filled with adoration. He nods, once, and starts pressing kisses to Andrés’ abdomen and thighs, moving his fingers in careful circles. Then, he touches something- the prostate, Andrés realizes, letting out a long moan and arching his back, his hips pushing against Martín’s hand.

“ _There_ ,” he manages, the pleasure weird and unfamiliar, coming from the _inside_ , spreading all over his body. “That’s- oh, _cielito_ , that’s nice.”

“I know,” Martín says, sounding more wrecked than Andrés feels.

“Go on. Slowly, yes, just like that,” Andrés relaxes back into the pillows, closing his eyes and letting a grin stretch over his face, twitching at every wave of pleasure that washes over him. He praises Martín, patting his head that’s still nestled between his legs.

“ _Andrés,”_ Martín whines after a few minutes of fingering him. “Andrés, I’m so fucking hard it hurts, please, _please…_ “

“Hmmm,” Andrés smiles and opens his eyes to look at Martín, flushed and desperate. “If you ask so nicely.”

Martín pulls his fingers out, gently, and then almost breaks his neck, twisting it as he searches for the bottle of lube, lost somewhere in the sheets. When he finally finds it and smears some of the liquid over his dick, he moans with relief.

“You haven’t been touching yourself until now, have you?” Andrés asks, his voice tender. Martín shakes his head, seating himself in-between his legs again. “What a good boy you are.”

“ _Fuck_ , Andrés.”

Once in bed, Martín is not really much of a smooth talker. He’s great at foreplay, but he quickly turns into a cursing, whimpering mess. Andrés absolutely adores him for it.

He groans and winces when Martín pushes into him, but Martín stills immediately, leaning down to rest his forehead against Andrés’ chest, panting heavily. Andrés feels his muscles shaking against him as both of them get used to the pressure.

“Still with me?” he asks after a moment, a little bit breathless. Martín lets out a quiet groan before nodding. “Move.”

Martín does, but he doesn’t push all the way in. He keeps his thrusts shallow, meant to give pleasure to Andrés, first and foremost. It works and Andrés tilts his head back, sneaking one of his hands underneath it for more comfort as his other hand covers Martín’s, which is resting on his thigh.

He moans and then lets out an angry hiss when Martín tries to speed up his movements.

“No,” he says, sending him a glare that makes Martín shiver. “Drag it out.”

“But, _Andrés_ -”

“It’s your own fault for being so needy. Now, fuck me properly, slowly, and let me enjoy it.”

Martín complies, as always. He’s rolling his hips gently, sending small waves of pleasure up Andrés’ spine. Andrés simply stretches out and relaxes, groaning quietly from time to time when it feels particularly good.

He has no way of knowing how much time passes, but he’s sure they’ve been at it for a long while until he finally decides to show some mercy. He taps his fingers against Martín’s hand, opening his eyes to look at him.

“Alright,” he murmurs, a little hoarsely. “You can let go, but you don’t get to come before I do.”

Martín stares into his eyes as he nods and leans in, sneaking a hand between their bodies to take hold of Andrés’ dick. He starts moving faster, jerking him off at the same time and Andrés groans, throwing his head back. The buildup is definitely worth it; he feels the heat pooling in both his groin and his lower back, radiating and overwhelming.

The orgasm is long and intense, like sliding into a bath filled with hot water. When he sighs and almost melts into the mattress, he sees that Martín is close to sobbing over him, his hips still twitching.

“Can I?” he asks, voice completely broken. “Can I, _please?”_

Andrés smiles lazily.

“Of course, _cariño._ ”

It only takes Martín two desperate thrusts before he’s spilling inside of him, the feeling warm and strange, but not unpleasant, making him grunt quietly. Martín pulls out, then, carefully, and falls onto the bed next to Andrés, shaking like a leaf and trying to catch his breath.

Andrés laughs as he reaches to stroke his hair, damp with sweat.

“Now,” he says, grinning. “I can see that you’re a mess, but you’ve also made quite a mess, which was exactly what you’ve wished for. Go and prepare a nice, warm bath for poor, _used_ me.”  
  


_Martín is perfect_ , Andrés thinks as he rests his head against the edge of the tub. Not only he _did_ prepare him a bath, but he also poured in some essential oils, put on some music and lit the candles.

“Where are the rose petals, Martín? I feel underappreciated,” he purrs.

“You’re such a bastard, it’s unbelievable,” Martín barks, his harsh tone contrasting with the way he gently rubs a towel into Andrés’ wet hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you tonight. Just now… it was a fun alternative, but I believe I prefer to fuck you, you take me so well.”

Martín actually smiles at that and leans down to kiss him.

“It’s because you fuck me so well. To be honest, I still feel like _I’m_ the one who got screwed just now.”

“Well, that’s because you were right,” Andrés looks up at him. “It has nothing to do with dominance.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in warmth, in _pleasure._

“God,” he sighs. “It’s amazing how good I am at gay intercourse.”


End file.
